


Dewey

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: A father picks up the pieces.





	

Dewey Longbottom caught an earful from his wife over a bunch of nonsense, yet he still loved her after forty years of marriage. A pacifist, he'd never made it as a dueler in his schooldays at Hogwarts. He was a fair haired man with blue eyes and a boyish grin; Dewey loved life because it was a gift. He carried his weight round the middle, and he always struggled with it. He went through life at a languid pace because he enjoyed taking the scenic route. There was all the time in the world. 

This was before he found his son, Frank, and his wife, Alice, lost in their sitting room on a Wednesday morning. Wednesdays used to be their family dinner nights. Things had slowly returned to normal after the end of the war. When Dewey Apparated onto the doorstep, he slipped a little, but he found his footing. The door jammed, and he slammed into it when he heard his grandson's cries. Alice and Frank never let Neville carry on like this. 

Dewey had a feeling. He couldn't exactly put it into words. Something felt off. When he opened the door, he found Alice crumpled on the floor. Her clothes hung off her body. Always fastidious about her appearance and never late for work, Dewey took this as the first sign something was wrong with her. Her blonde hair hung round her shoulders, and she said not a word. Her stockings hung round her knees. Dewey dressed her properly, fixed her clothes, and carried her over to the couch. 

"What happened, Alice?" He sat next to her. Alice flinched at his touch, so Dewey, a bit frightened, backed off and went to find his son. Alice said nothing.

Dewey searched without really seeing anything. He found Neville standing in his cot in his cot in wet clothes. At age two, they were working on potty training this boy, but it was obvious he'd been left unattended in the nursery for a long time. As Dewey walked over to the boy, he felt like he'd walked through a sheer barrier, a protective charm. 

His hands shaking, Dewey changed Neville and slipped the boy's purple trainers on his feet. Under different circumstances, Dewey would've given him a proper bath, but this place felt wrong. 

"Dewey." Neville raised his arms. 

"Come on, grandson, you're fine. Where's Daddy?" 

Dewey scooped Neville up and walked down the corridor. Frank and Alice had rented this place from the Ministry after one of their assignments wrapped up because their house had been destroyed by the Death Eaters. Cautious and scared, Dewey took out his wand. He might not know a lot, though Frank had taught him simple defensive spells during the war. 

Dewey didn't really know why he did what he did next. In hindsight, Dewey rather wished he’d done it earlier. As a Healer-in-Charge, he always carried things on his person. Today happened to be a day off. After blowing air into a latex glove, tying it off, and handing it to Neville, he slipped a pair on and took a pinch of Floo Powder out of a small wooden box. He pointed his wand at the grate and flames appeared there. The Floo Powder turned them green. He knelt and spoke clearly. 

"Alastor Moody." 

There was a delay, and he caught the Auror in mid-conversation. When Mad-Eye recognized Dewey, he dropped awkwardly to his knees. "Mr. Longbottom?" 

"Something happened." Dewey didn't know what. And he couldn't go on because his shaky voice caught in his throat. Moody told him to stay put, and Dewey nodded. Fear gripped him. Unable to stay put, he grabbed Neville, who had started to totter towards his mother. 

"Momma," said Neville. 

This was Dewey's third hint. Alice was an excellent Auror and an exceptional mother. She and Frank had tried for years to have children and had been unsuccessful on countless attempts. Neville had been a happy mistake. Even if she felt knackered, Alice would've responded to her boy. 

"She's sleeping. It's all right, grandson." Dewey lied. 

Dewey drifted off in the ransacked kitchen. A bloody knife lay on the floor; there were three knives missing from the wooden block. Frank's wand lay underneath the table, so Dewey took this as the fourth sign that something was definitely not right. Frank, a decorated Auror, would've never surrendered his wand! 

Dewey picked up his son's wand and pocketed it. On second thought, he wandered if he should've left it there as this clearly reeked of a crime scene. Frank sat in a wooden chair. He did not sit at the table; someone had positioned him towards the neutral colored wall. He sat there laughing his head off. 

"Francis, this is not funny." Dewey, annoyed, approached him. He never called Frank by his given name unless he meant business.

Red specks splattered onto the clean tile. He found one of the knives in Frank's hand, though his son appeared not to feel any pain. A gravelly voice called from the sitting room. Mad-Eye had arrived. Dewey buried Neville's head in his chest, not wanting the little boy to see any of this. Frank's eyes appeared unfocused, which meant he wasn't really there. Fear filled Dewey's eyes, although his tear ducts remained empty. 

His hand trembled over his mouth, and Dewey gave a dry sob. "Oh, my God. Frank. Francis!" 

Frank registered nothing. Mad-Eye joined them in the the kitchen, complaining about his damned leg, and dragged Alice behind him. He didn't seem comfortable with leaving her alone. Dewey knew nothing about proper Auror procedure. There was search, and seizure, and stuff, yet it stood out as Greek to him. 

"You stay here." Mad-Eye helped Alice into a chair. She talked to herself, although none of it made sense to Dewey. Mad-Eye got some kitchen towel and wrung it in the sink before he washed Alice's face and hands. "How's the boy?" 

"Neville's fine," said Dewey. Frank finally stopped laughing and fell into an eerie silence. Dewey wanted time to stop. He needed answers. "I had a feeling. I woke up with a feeling, and I came to investigate because I have a key." 

Mad-Eye's tone sounded clipped and businesslike. "Did you use it?" 

"No." Dewey explained how Neville had been screaming in the nursery. Mad-Eye checked on Frank. "Did their memories get wiped? I thought we were safe because things had died down. It's been a year since the war ended. Why would this happen?" 

"Because they’re the best Aurors in the field," said Mad-Eye. He did not sound unsympathetic, although he refused to look at the crying boy in Dewey's arms. Neville kept asking for his momma. When Frank flinched at his touch, Mad-Eye squeezed his hand. "Someone wanted to play." 

"What does that mean?" Dewey pulled up a barstool next to Alice. He let Neville crawl onto her lap. Alice did not wake up. "These are my children, Alastor. I know they're grown, and Alice isn't my blood, but this is my son and my daughter. I love them. I ... I can take it." 

Mad-Eye studied him for a long minute. He seemed to think Dewey wad strong enough to handle the truth. The Dark Mark, which usually would've been cast over a residence after a Death Eater committed such a hideous act, did not hang in the sky. Mad-Eye painted the picture for him. If, he, Mad-Eye, had been a Death Eater, death would not have been enough. Given their high security clearance, Frank and Alice held the key to top secret information. This would've been dragged out for hours. 

"Bet they denied them food and water," said Mad-Eye, rushing over and filling two glasses with water. 

He handed one to Alice, and she lapped it up like a parched dog. He refilled it, telling her to slow down. Frank drank his. When Dewey asked how Mad-Eye could have possibly known this, he made the answer sound obvious as he healed Frank's hand. He fished around for food stuffs and found an unopened box of Neville's animal crackers. 

"It's what I would've done," said Mad-Eye. He divided the animal crackers. He gave Neville one and picked him up. "Hello, Neville." 

"Why would they spare Neville?" asked Dewey. 

"He's two. What's he going to tell you?" Mad-Eye walked around the kitchen and searched the storage area. "You want some carrots?" 

"No." Neville shook his head. 

"Well, your dad stashes this stuff at work." Mad-Eye found a jar of peanut butter and some celery sticks. He opened the jar and dipped a celery stick before he offered it to the boy. Neville said no. "Take it or leave it, kid, because we've got two options." 

Neville tucked into the celery sticks. Mad-Eye kept dipping them in peanut butter and didn't say much for a good while. This is as down to earth as Dewey had ever seen him; he didn't know this man had a soft side. 

"There are butter knives in the cupboard," said Dewey, pointing. 

"We're good." Mad-Eye waited for Neville to polish off the celery sticks before he stripped him down and gave him a bath in the sink. Dewey fetched proper soap and shampoo along with some fresh clothes. After hosing Neville down and dressing him clumsily, Mad-Eye commented on his trainers. "Purple, eh? You like these?" 

"Yep." Neville swung his feet. 

"Okay. You know, my parents were like yours, too, boy." Mad-Eye set Neville on the floor. Neville, who probably didn't know the faintest idea of what Mad-Eye talked about, shook his head. Dewey didn't know Mad-Eye's parents had been Aurors. "You'll be all right." 

 

Three months passed. It was Christmastime. Dewey hated being a Healer-in-Charge. Before his son and his wife arrived on his ward, Spell Damage, Dewey had called this place his sanctuary. Neither Frank nor Alice had showed signs of improvement. Their trial was underway, but Dewey chose not to attend. 

When Alice had arrived, although Dewey didn't initially know why he'd made this call, he'd insisted they run a rape kit on her. The sight of Alice in her stockings haunted his dreams. He'd been right on that score, and Dewey hated himself for it. Whilst they slowly drove her insane, the so-called gentlemen had taken their turns enjoying her. 

One of the Lestrange brothers had openly admitted to this in trial yesterday. Alice had enjoyed him. He'd gone back for more. Although he didn't attend the trials, Dewey heard all about them. The matrons and theTrainee Healers lived on gossip, and it was no secret Frank Longbottom was Dewey's boy. 

Although Dewey was Healer-in-Charge in this floor, he did not consider Frank nor Alice his charges. He'd asked Augusta about taking care of them at home because he could afford the best in the business with his tight hospital connections with home healthcare. She'd asked Dewey if he'd bonked his head recently because this was madness. 

Neville's adoption went through without a hitch. With overwhelming support from the magical community, Dewey took this as a nice gesture. He was a father again at sixty-two and Neville sort of fell into his lap. Dewey heard the resentment in Augusta's voice all the time. She didn't hate Neville, but she wanted her son back. 

"What's next?" Augusta stood over Dewey as he read over research in his office. "You pull off miracles, Dewey. What good are you if you can't save your son? You promised." 

"First off, you need to leave this hospital and get some fresh air. Secondly, I'm not God. I promised you nothing; only an idiot makes promises at St. Mungo's. The only one who can deliver on something like that is God. Do you see Him?" Dewey tossed his memory research aside and sat through her momentary silence. When she suggested something experimental in Argentina, he lost it because she said he'd thrown in the towel. "Get out." 

"Dewey." Augusta stood her ground. When the office door opened and Marianne cleared her throat, Augusta touched her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "What is it?" 

Dewey voiced his worst fear before Marianne got a chance to string an explanation together. He sank back further in his chair and wanted to cry. "She's pregnant." 

Marianne bowed her head. "Yes." 

Dewey waved her out of his office and dropped his face in his hands. This was simply perfect. Furious, he picked up his glass and threw it against the wall. 

"Dewey," said Augusta, sinking into her chair. 

"I can't...I can't." He strode from his office, and Augusta followed in his wake. He didn't care. Veering off to the main entrance, Dewey got outside and lost his lunch in the bin next to the hideously dressed mannequin. Witches and wizards sidestepped him and threw him disgusted looks. Dewey straightened up. 

"What does this mean?" Augusta searched his face. She seemed to be half-talking herself into accepting this. "Frank said they were trying again." 

"That child isn't his." Dewey spat out the truth. He didn't know this for certain, but he'd bet good money on this. It had taken fifteen years for Neville to come along. 

"Well." Augusta leaned against the brick wall. "Get rid of it." 

"She's three months along, Augusta," said Dewey. 

"She doesn't know," said Augusta. She froze when she saw Dewey's pained expression. "You want to keep it? You can't be serious." 

"It's a part of Alice," he said meekly. Augusta had said it herself: they did not know if the child was Frank’s or not. "If she'd been...Alice wouldn't want ..." 

"Alice wouldn't have wanted to be ridden like some prized mare," said Augusta, not even entertaining the idea. "Dewey, she cannot speak." 

"She knows she's pregnant," said Dewey. He checked his watch. He gave up arguing with his wife for the day. "We have time. Go home." 

Augusta hugged him and left. Dewey took a minute to gather himself and headed back inside the hospital. After his shift, he sat with Alice. She didn't know him, or at least Dewey assumed she no longer knew him, but she liked sitting with him. Someone, probably Augusta, had braided her long blonde hair. He watched Alice eat her dinner. When she'd been pregnant with Neville, she'd craved ice cream. 

“So, I know I told you on your wedding day. You’re my daughter. You’re mine, Alice, and I’d go down fighting for you. No questions asked.” Dewey pressed his lips to her forehead. “I love you. See you tomorrow, darling.” 

Dewey said good night to Frank as well. Even on his days off, which came around rarely, he travelled up to London to go through this same ritual. Usually he did around bedtime after tucking Neville in. Marianne relieved him and filled him in on the interesting cases of the day. 

“You haven’t slept, have you?” She crossed her arms. “Dewey. You’re not all right.” 

“I’m all right,” he said, mirroring her concern. He hadn't heard a word of her explanation of the day’s events. After updating a handful of patient charts, he reorganized the paperwork station. “I’m off tomorrow. I’m going home.” 

“Why?” Marianne walked him to the ward doors. 

“I need to go to the Ministry, I think. I don’t know. I need to go. Let me know if anything happens.” 

Dewey went in the locker room and changed into his regular Muggle clothes before he walked into the street and Disapparated after traveling a few paces past the forgotten department store. When he got home, Neville walked out the open door and shot straight for him. Dewey had been the pushover parent for Frank, too, so he enjoyed stealing the favorite slot from Augusta. 

He heard Augusta screaming from the kitchen. 

“What have you done, grandson?” Dewey picked him up and left his rucksack by the door went he went inside. Augusta stormed over to him with her hands on her hips, speechless. She took a deep breath. Neville wrapped his arms around Dewey’s neck. “Not good, grandson.” 

 

The next day, Dewey got escorted into the Ministry of Magic by Mad-Eye. Dewey wore everyday robes, although he almost walked into this place dressed in Muggle dress clothes. He had some of those. When he used to do house calls on his patients, these clothes had provided good cover. 

“Mr. Longbottom.” Mad-Eye handed him a cup of coffee. It was the expensive stuff with creamer. Dewey smiled, thinking Frank must’ve told this man how he took his coffee. Working at the hospital for years had transformed Dewey into quite the coffee snob. 

“Thank you. It’s Dewey.” Dewey had told him this countless times. Everyone called him this. Even Frank. Or he had. Mad-Eye nodded and steered him towards the lift. 

“What’s your given name?” Mad-Eye leaned against the wall. 

“David George.” Dewey hated confined spaces and chose to take his lift rides in peace. Instead of continuing with the small talk, for Mad-Eye didn’t know how to do such a thing, the Auror waited for the lift. They walked down a dark corridor. “It’s cold down here.” 

“In here, Dewey,” he said. He held the door open and clapped him on there shoulder. “Are you ready?” 

“No.” He gave an honest answer. 

They didn't need Dewey’s testimony to convict these people. Why was he doing this again when public opinion was so strong? Mad-Eye turned him around. As Healer-in-Charge, Dewey had sometimes given an opinion as a medical expert on the effects of Spell Damage on an individual. This was different. Why did they need his testimony again? 

“You’re doing this for your grandson. If you need a moment, you find me. Talk to me.” Mad-Eye pointed his gnarled finger towards the bench; he pointed at Albus Dumbledore, which Dewey taught this meant he sat by the man. Mad-Eye gestured at a chair facing the bench, and Dewey sat down. Three wizards and a witch sat nearby in chained chairs. “Nobody else matters. Are you all right?” 

Dewey said yes. Mad-Eye nodded and headed up to his seat on the bench. This was day three of the trial. A man called Barty Crouch swore Dewey in, and Dewey had raised his right hand. 

“Mr. Longbottom, are you here as an expert?” asked Crouch. Mr. Crouch had known this, yet he’d made the distinction for the rest of the people in attendance. 

“No. No, that’s a violation of code. I’m here … I was asked here as a character witness. So I came.” Dewey didn’t look at the chained woman when she cackled with laughter. Barty Crouch asked him to identify himself, so Dewey gave his legal name. “David George Longbotton. I’m Frank’s father.” 

Mr. Crouch nodded. The man stared at the second prisoner to the left, a blonde kid. “When you arrived at your son’s residence on the twenty-second of September, why were you there?” 

“Well, I was off. And the kids worked a lot, you know, Frank and Alice, so I thought I’d take their son off their hands for the day because I help out whenever I can.” Dewey kept his eyes on Mad-Eye. The man looked pissed off beyond words. “Go to the zoo.” 

“What’s a zoo?” Mr. Crouch asked this question as if Dewey spoke in code he needed to decipher. 

“Oh, the London Zoo. It’s a place where Muggles keep animals, and plants, and things.” Dewey shrugged. “Neville likes that stuff … so that was the plan.” 

Mad-Eye and a few lawyers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had advised Dewey not to say too much nor too little. They had prepped him for this in a mock trial, and he denied coming here because he had started crying. Dewey suspected Mad-Eye handled him with kid gloves, for he’d heard this man was simply terrifying. As a renowned Auror, he’d taken a lot of time out of his day to be there for Dewey. 

“And after you grabbed your grandson?” asked Crouch, pulling Dewey’s wandering mind back to the present. 

“I went in the kitchen. Frank was there.” Dewey took a sharp breath as the memory hit him anew. He relived it. Mad-Eye nodded, telling him to go on. “My son sat in a chair. A blade sliced clean through his hand.”  

The crowd gave a cry of outrage, which didn’t help matters nor Dewey’s nerves. Surely they’d read about this in the papers, but it was a spectacle to hear it. Mr. Crouch waited for the crowd to die down. Dewey expected his next question. 

 “Did he say anything?”

  “No. He laughed.” Frank hadn't laughed since that day. The woman who sat in her chair acted as though she tired of this game. She sat upon that chair like it was a throne. She turned her head towards Dewey and stared right at him. Dewey, unnerved, met her gaze. His voice felt stronger. He held his coffee in his shaking hands. “There is no reason a man, any man, should be treated as an animal.”

The woman, Madam Lestrange. studied him for the longest time. Dewey felt a small surge of pride when she looked away first. He got back on track when they moved onto Alice, although he slipped into the Healer-in-Charge role here. The questioning went on for a good hour, and Dewey grew more confident as time passed. He wasn’t the one at fault here. When the prisoners got dragged off, the blonde young man called out hopelessly for his father. 

Dewey, shocked, stared at Barty’s Crouch’s expressionless face. He didn't read the papers because Mad-Eye asked him to stay away from the press. Augusta had not followed these orders. At eleven, Mr. Crouch called for a recess and the courtroom cleared. Dewey sat stock still and waited for Mad-Eye to leave the bench. Professor Dumbledore had been one of the first on the Wizengamot to leave. 

 

Dewey couldn’t help it. He burst out crying like a little boy. Mad-Eye, nodding at Mr. Crouch in the corner, wrapped his arms around Dewey, and the doors opened. Dewey watched Crouch leave as he struggled to compose himself. 

“Frank says you don’t hug people.” Dewey wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He spoke about his son in the present-tense because, after all, he wasn’t dead. 

“Yeah, this won’t happen again,” said Mad-Eye gruffly. He sounded uncomfortable even saying the words. He released him after a few moments; Dewey gripped the arms of the chair. “Dewey, look at me.” 

“This isn't right,” said Dewey. 

“It’s not,” said Mad-Eye. 

Dewey looked into his scarred face. “I keep thinking Frank will come back home and bang on my door just to say a quick hello.” 

“That’s why he did that,” said Mad-Eye, talking to himself for a moment. “He pulled that nonsense on me at three in the morning a few years ago. Seemed to think it was funny. I almost killed him. What a bastard.” 

Dewey cracked a smile. “Did he ever start doing the robot? He had this Muggle friend…” 

“In the middle of Oxford Street after a pursuit,” said Mad-Eye, giving Dewey what Dewey thought passed for a smile. He offered him a hand. “Yeah, I wrote him up that day. Only sanction I ever got him for. Alice laughed her head off when read that report to the whole department. That was a strange day.” 

“Yeah.” Dewey had heard about this write-up and offered no apologies for his son’s odd behavior. Frank lived for life. He acted professional whenever the career called for it, but he knew how to cut the fool. Mad-Eye suggested they have lunch. “Aren’t you busy?” 

“Not today. We get to do whatever you want.” Mad-Eye said his testimony was over. Since he didn't want to hang around for the rest of the trial, Mad-Eye suggested they head off to the Leaky Cauldron or some other pub. “Are you a drinker?”  “Yes.” Dewey gave an automatic answer, since it was obvious by his girth that he put away some food. Dewey didn't want to draw attention from onlookers or be bombarded by court reporters. “Have you ever been to Seamus?” 

“No.” Mad-Eye put his hands in his pockets and asked about the establishment. A little place near the hospital, Seamus was a Muggle pub Dewey had retreated to ever since his Trainee Healer days. Dewey had never been much of a heavy drinker, but he liked the atmosphere. “That sounds fine to me.” 

Dewey knew Mad-Eye drank from a hip flask. He’d probably be paranoid at a new place. Mad-Eye was probably one of those people who never had his back to a door. After they felt the Ministry and travelled deeper into London, Dewey sat down to breaded mushrooms and mayonnaise. 

“I don’t like that place, the Ministry,” he said, shoving the starter towards Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye sniffed one and declined; the man sniffed out of a chunk in his nose. It seemed to be a newly acquired injury Mad-Eye had picked up along the way. He placed the mushroom back on the plate, and Dewey set it aside in a napkin. 

“You want to talk about something,” Mad-Eye observed. The waiter who served them stout looked appalled at Mad-Eye’s shocking appearance. 

Would he get in trouble for not sharing the whole truth with the Wizengamot? If anything, he felt, even though the evidence was overwhelmingly on their side, this would’ve helped Alice’s case. Dewey finished the mushrooms, but he set his sandwich and chips aside. How exactly was he supposed to phrase this?

“This is not publicly known, and I don’t want it out there, if it can be helped in any way. You can't tell anyone.” Dewey gulped down half his tankard. He’d decided before they had walked into Seamus he’d need another mental health day tomorrow. 

Mad-Eye sniffed his own sandwich and nodded at him to continue. They were practically strangers, yet they masqueraded as the thickest of thieves today. Augusta had not shared this with any of her friends. Dewey suspected she kept whatever went on with Frank and Alice within the family. As Marianne was bound by a confidentiality agreement between Healer and patient, she didn’t count here. There were two, now three, in on the secret. 

“It’s Alice,” said Dewey. Mad-Eye frowned at him as they discussed the rape kit. Dewey hadn’t mentioned this as part of his testimony on purpose. As a Healer, he would’ve bound by this truth he withheld, so he understood the fine line he walked along here. “She was on your team. This is going to bother you.” 

“Already there,” said Mad-Eye, stewing in his anger. “Before you say anything, I want to tell you if I’ve got to kill these bastards … I’d rather not know. Is she well?” 

“Yes.” Dewey started eating his lunch when Mad-Eye stepped away to use the restroom. Maybe it was better if he didn't know. 

Mad-Eye, pushed to the edge with hsi curiosity, returned to the table a few minutes later. “Tell me.” 

“Sit down.” 

He did. “I can you what you’re going to say.” 

“You know?”  

“I think so.” Mad-Eye studied him as he sliced his sandwich into two. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

Dewey neither confirmed nor denied this. The way Mad-Eye contorted his face frightened him. They ate in silence. What was he supposed to do? As a Healer-in-Charge, Dewey hated whenever Augusta relied on him for everything. Absolutely everything. This was a natural thing, yet Dewey didn’t want to know. Alice was Mad-Eye’s handpicked officer. Until two years ago when she’d insisted things needed to change, Alice had been the only female officer accepted into the Auror program, and she’d helped make this an easier transition. 

“Tell me what to do,” said Dewey meekly. He didn't care if he had to beg a decorated Auror for nothing more than an opinion. Mad-Eye stared at him, his face completely blank. “Please. You’re their friend, and she trusts you more than she trusts her husband in some cases. She’s my daughter. My daughter-in-law. You have no children. I need … I need help.” 

Mad-Eye set his empty plate aside and wiped his hands on a napkin. He remained silent for what seemed like the longest time and weighed his options. Did Dewey want the truth or a simple answer? Mad-Eye didn't say this, yet Dewey could practically hear the cogs synchronizing in his brain. 

“Alice is not of sound mind,” said Mad-Eye finally. Dewey chewed on this as he finished his lunch. Mad-Eye asked for another starter and he didn’t care what. Dewey was at the hospital every single day. He knew this. When he pointed this out to Mad-Eye, the man lowered his voice. “No. She’s not coming back. She might regain her mind, but Alice will never be the same. Your staff might not tell you this because you’re the boss of that ward. Nor is Frank. That boy you’re raising?”  < /p> “Neville will remember them,” said Dewey firmly. Even as he said it, Dewey didn’t want Neville to remember what had happened on that awful day. Studies showed people didn’t hold onto true memories until age three He, Dewey, had nightmares about it that made his skin crawl. 

Mad-Eye held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. As Dewey had asked for his opinion, he had a right to his say. Dewey wished he’d kept his mouth shut. At the end of the day, what did it matter? He acted as Alice and Frank’s power of attorney, so for all intents and purposes, he was them. 

“All I’m saying is this might be a problem down the road. You’re an optimist, Dewey.” Mad-Eye had dropped the Mr. Longbottom nonsense, yet Dewey, agitated, found himself wishing the Auror would pick it up again. What was he getting at? “All right, say she wakes up in a year or a year and a half. And you hand her this baby who’s the spitting image of Crouch?”   “Crouch’s son might’ve simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Dewey voiced popular opinion. 

“Not the point. That was me being nice, but you’re right!” Mad-Eye’s tone leaked with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t Bellatrix Lestrange love to know her filthy husband gave your son a bastard?” 

Nauseous, Dewey pushed away from the table. 

“If you defend these people, they will eat you alive, Dewey. You know how rare your son is? Alice was a gift. A gift!” Mad-Eye pounded his fist on the table and made Dewey jump. He put the starter on a carryout box and set it down. “What would Alice do?”    
“I don’t know.” 

Augusta had asked the same question, and Dewey gave the same answer. Was he supposed to change his mind because he spoke to an officer? If he’d known what was best for his family, didn’t they think he would’ve done it already? Mad-Eye waved the waiter down and ordered two orders of the day’s special. Dewey paid for the meal. 

“Want to go up to the hospital?” asked Mad-Eye. 

“Yes, please,” said Dewey. 

They walked the short distance to St. Mungo’s. After they passed through the sheer barrier, Dewey flashed his hospital badge at the security wizard, although he was pretty sure this fellow knew him by sight. He led Mad-Eye towards the ward. Mad-Eye carried the food. 

“He resembles you,” said Mad-Eye. 

“Frank?” Dewey smiled, for he heard this a lot. He played with the stuff inside his robes. Mad-Eye rolled his eyes. Dewey, thinking he’d unintentionally offended this man yet again, stopped fidgeting. “Sorry.” 

“Why are you apologizing? He does that, too. Frank fidgets.” Mad-Eye’s anger had evaporated as quickly as it came. “Do you know annoying it is during an interrogation to watch a grown man craft a chain out of Muggle paperclips? He makes me want to throttle him.” 

Dewey shrugged. “Paperclips. I count matchsticks.” 

“Strange. Fool, they put the count on the outside of box. Can you read?” Mad-Eye walked into the ward after taking a detour. He joined Dewey. “Alice.” 

Few people outside of Dewey and Augusta and got privileges to see Frank and Alice. When they had gotten moved onto the permanent residents’ ward, Dewey had added Alastor Moody to this list. Dewey didn’t follow visiting hours, and the hospital respected his space. 

“I have food. Actual food.” Mad-Eye handed both Alice and Frank their food and things of plastic silverware; they shared the starter. Dewey helped his son and his wife into chairs as Mad-Eye told them of the abysmal candidate interviews. Neither of them added anything to the conversation, and Mad-Eye acted like this happened all the time. “Trial ended today. We’ve got the bastards.” 

“We didn’t stay for closing arguments,” added Dewey. 

“We went drinking,” said Mad-Eye, unashamed he’d left during a court proceeding. Dewey suspected he’d done this off and on throughout the years. “Crouch is the law; the law is Crouch. Wonder how long that’s going to last. I bet went it gets out there, Mr. Crouch shall fall from grace.” 

Dewey didn’t know what to say to this. The inner workings of the Ministry of Magic had never really interested him, although Frank and Alice had shared some good stories with him. Dewey hardly entertained gossip within the walls of St. Mungo’s. Mad-Eye broke the news about Alice to Frank. 

“You two are the best officers I have ever had the privilege of working with,” he said, placing a hand on Alice’s knee. When they had announced their engagement, Mad-Eye had been against them tying the knot. “Notice I did not say, ‘Probably,’, Frank. And you can keep your comments to yourselves, thank you very much.” 

Dewey chuckled. Mad-Eye turned towards Alice and touched her pale face. Although they were insane, these two kept good care of themselves, although they sometimes got lost on a train of thought leading to nowhere. Mad-Eye wiped her face with a napkin, and Alice didn’t fight at his touch. She continued eating. 

“I think she knows your voice,” said Dewey. Alice seemed to follow the sound of it before she got lost again. 

“She used to hate me,” said Mad-Eye, and he definitely smiled at Dewey this time. He returned it, surprised this man smiled at all. When he turned back to Alice, he reached in his inside pocket and handed her a tube of lip balm. Alice applied to her cracked lips after she finished her food. “Alice. I know you’re in there. If you can hear me, if you are getting any of this, I need you to nod or something.” 

Alice offered him the empty container. 

“That doesn’t count,” said Dewey. He’d thought she’d kissed him on the cheek when he’d helped her to bed a few nights ago. 

Mad-Eye nodded, his tone devoid of emotion. “Absinthe.” 

He got to his mismatched feet. 

“You asked my opinion, Dewey, and I’ve given it Absinthe. She can’t … if Alice isn’t there, she’s not registering any of it. Make it painless. You’ll forget it ever happened.” 

“I cannot do that.” Dewey rubbed his hands together. 

“You’ll find those lines get blurred,” said Mad-Eye. 

It wouldn’t be difficult to find a solution to this unfortunate problem. Mad-Eye reached into his robes and handed Dewey two boxes of matches. He usually came by on the weekends. 

He shook Frank’s hand and kissed Alice on the cheek after he whispered softly in her ear. With a parting wave, he left. Dewey sat back and counted his matches. He was missing two. 

  

**Author's Note:**

> Neville's grandfather is mentioned briefly in the Order of the Phoenix. I wanted to study the insight of a character and go beyond how the attack on the Longbottoms affected people. Dewey popped into my mind, and it went from there. He was an easy character to write.
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to see if I could do this from another perspective. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading. As always, any reviews or critiques would be appreciated. Let me know what you think.


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